


drabble collection

by ben_jaded



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Bottom Erik Killmonger, Drabble Collection, Endearments, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rimming, Smut, Sub Erik, Tears, Top T'Challa (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-20 03:17:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ben_jaded/pseuds/ben_jaded
Summary: A series of t'cherik drabbles.





	1. Say my name

**Author's Note:**

> This ship has consumed my life. I've finally found a reason to write again. I'll be posting these drabbles until I feel more comfortable writing longer fic.

Erik only has vague memories now of how his father used to say his name. He hordes them, keeps them locked up tight. They’re like well-loved photographs, the edges faded and bent. The oldest memories are of his father tucking him in at night, lips pressed softly against his forehead, a murmured ‘goodnight N’Jadaka,’ whisking him off to sleep. The others are tinged in sepia, grainy and blurred, audio out of focus. Still he treasures them. 

Here in Wakanda, T’Challa is the only one allowed to call him N’Jadaka. To the rest of Wakanda he is Erik or Killmonger, their would-be conqueror and short-lived king, an outsider in all the ways that count. The first person who tried to call him N’Jadaka instead of Erik finds out the hard way he is only N’Jadaka to T’Challa. 

Erik loves the way T’Challa says his name. It's in the soothing cadence of his voice, the way he spaces out the letters, how smoothly they roll off the tip of his tongue. 

He loves the way T’Challa stutters it out, chokes on the syllables as he sinks down on Erik’s cock inch by slow inch, powerful thighs straddling Erik’s lap. 

He loves how T’Challa clutches unto him, rough gasps stealing the air from his lungs as he breathes out Erik’s name. 

He loves how T’Challa whimpers it out as he arches his back, asking Erik to fuck him deeper.

He loves the way T’Challa moans it, head thrown back as he’s coming. 

He loves it when T’Challa growls it out, hand tightening on Erik’s throat just this side of too tight but not enough. 

He loves how gruff T’Challa sounds when he says it, eyes heavy-lidded, smoldering with unabashed hunger, causing heat to pull low in Erik’s stomach when he’s teased the other man one too many times. 

He loves how cracked and husky it sounds when T’Challa sighs it out at the apex of his thigh, lips barely grazing the cock head before he swallows down and all Erik can do is give T’Challa what he wants, Erik’s complete surrender. 

He loves how T’Challa says it in fond exasperation, lips quirking in a barely suppressed smile. 

He loves how T’Challa says it in that stern tone, the one that means he’s had enough, Erik has pushed too hard and there will be consequences. 

He loves the way T’Challa says it, forehead pressed against his, calloused hands cupping Erik’s jaw before he brings their mouths together for a soul-searing kiss.

Erik just loves all the ways T’Challa says his name. 

He tries hard not to compare it to how his father used to say his name. Tries not to substitute T’Challa’s lilting voice with his father’s modulated one. But sometimes he fails, their voices blur together and form new memories; ones where he’s finally home, loved and cherished.

There's a reason only T’Challa has the right to say Erik's Wakandan name. And that is something he’s unwilling to share.


	2. kneeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik kneels for T'Challa

When the doors to his office slide open, T'Challa doesn't bother to look up. Only a few people would dare stop by unannounced and not be met with protest from the Dora Milaje standing guard. Shuri is busy with her own projects, more than happy to send T’Challa snippets of her work or things she found funny through their kimoyo beads; it breaks up the monotony of endless paperwork, and his mother hardly visits during work hours unless it’s by appointment. So all in all, he's already expecting a visit from his cousin. After all, he is the first person N'Jadaka seeks out after mission debriefs and a quick medical check. 

“N'Jadaka, welcome home.” The greeting is met with silence. 

T’Challa looks up. He can feel N'Jadaka's agitated state from across the room. N'Jadaka is standing at parade rest, back ramrod straight, hands behind his back. He's nearly vibrating with tension. His jaw is clenched so tightly T’Challa can see the vein pulsing at his throat. The urge to bite overtakes him. He wants to bury his face there, chase the taste of salt and sweat. Bite down hard enough to leave a mark. Clearing his throat, he tries again, this time the firmness in his voice can't be ignored. “N’Jadaka, come here.” 

T'Challa watches as his cousin shifts from foot to foot, he can tell that N'Jadaka is still debating following the order; his lips are pressed firmly together, his throat convulsing as if it's taking all his power not to respond. 

When the other man makes no move to either approach or leave, T'Challa resists the urge to sigh. So it’s to be like this? He stifles a frown, and continues on with his work, flipping through digital pages of a trade proposal from the River tribe. 

The silence grates. 

This is a game they play, to see who will crack first. T'Challa always plays to win. Depending on how desperate N'Jadaka is for relief, it can take hours of the other man pacing T'Challa's office like a caged animal before he gives in to the desire to kneel at T'Challa's feet, to submit. 

N’Jadaka doesn't move from his position by the door for another hour. T'Challa orders lunch for two and doesn't offer to share. N'Jadaka watches him eat with narrowed eyes. If T'Challa offers him food, it would lead to him feeding the other man while he knelt by T'Challa's side. Whenever T'Challa is in Wakanda, there is a soft cushion there right by the side of his desk. That is where N’Jadaka belongs, right there by his side.

T'Challa understands his lover very well, the other man never wants to appear weak. And this? This thing that they do is a weakness, something to be ashamed of, to reject. But the thing is, N’Jadaka craves this and T'Challa is a patient man. He can out wait his lover. He has done so multiple times before. His cousin's surrender is its own reward. 

He is finishing up his meal when N'Jadaka finally makes a move toward him, a mulish look decorating his features. But still, he comes and kneels by T’Challa. 

T'Challa always rewards good behavior. He can feel the tension drain from his cousin as he runs a firm hand through N’Jakada’s messy locs. 

“Now tell me, beloved,” T'Challa commands as he gently massages N'Jadaka's scalp, “how did your mission fare?” 

And this too is familiar.


	3. rimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa eats Erik out until he cries.

T’Challa roughly herded N'Jadaka toward the bed, climbed unto his lap, and meshed their lips together. His cock, painfully hard, rubbed against the other man’s stomach. 

“N’Jadaka, let me make love to you,” he murmured in between biting kisses, chest heaving. 

“T,” N'Jadaka groaned, meeting the kisses with equal fervor. He moaned hard as T’Challa scraped his teeth against his earlobe, roughly nibbling on the lobe. 

“Let me take care of you,” T’Challa says, licking a path down N'Jadaka’s neck.

T’Challa bit down hard on his collarbone, loving the way his name sounded all choked up coming out of N'Jadaka’s throat. 

“Let me feast on your body.”

T’Challa nudged at his shoulder, a hint for N'Jadaka to lay down on his back. He rolled N'Jadaka over, leaving him face down. He ran a gentle hand down N'Jadaka’s back, marveling at the raised bumps under his palm. N'Jadaka shivered, goosebumps pebbling over his skin. 

T’Challa kissed down along the line of his spine, lips soft against each vertebra. 

“’Challa,” N'Jadaka groaned as his kisses moved lower. 

His hands tightened on N'Jadaka’s hips. He marveled at how open the other man was being. It had taken him so long to earn his cousin’s trust. “Do you trust me,” he whispered, mouth at the top of N'Jadaka’s crack. N'Jadaka’s muffled groan was his answer. His hands spread N'Jadaka’s cheeks; the other man stiffened at the motion.

“Relax, my love,” he murmured against a hipbone.

“ ‘m tryin’,” was the hoarse reply. 

T’Challa nipped at a cheek, “We can stop at any time.”

“Ngh. Get on with it,” N'Jadaka groused, clearly impatient. 

T’Challa grabbed his hips, pulling upward. N'Jadaka was on his knees, hands clenching around a fistful of sheets, ass now in T’Challa’s face; it was a beautiful sight.

T’Challa pulled his cheeks apart again, dragging his tongue downwards. At the first curious pass of T’Challa’s tongue, N'Jadaka lets out a strangled moan. 

T’Challa gently traced the shape of the puckered hole with the tip of his tongue, causing N'Jadaka’s entire body to twitch. He lightly scraped his teeth against the muscle.

“Fuck,” N'Jadaka whimpered, back arching as he pushed back against T’Challa’s mouth.

T’Challa swirled his tongue in lazy circles around the ring of muscle before stiffening his tongue, pushing in slightly. Once he breached the tightness of N'Jadaka’s body, he settled in for a feast. 

He reveled in the choked off needy sounds coming out of his lover, on the lewd slurping noises his mouth made. Every time N'Jadaka relaxed into the sensation, T’Challa switched it up, alternating between light glancing flicks, steady circles and stabbing hard thrusts. When N'Jadaka’s knees started to shake, T’Challa backed off, kissed the base of N'Jadaka’s spine, let the other man regroup. Once he was sure his lover was sufficiently recovered, he’d start again, tongue fucking into N'Jadaka’s body until his jaw ached and his whole face was wet.

“Need to come,” N'Jadaka groaned out, hours later, face buried in a pillow. His elbows had given out hours earlier, T’Challa was holding him up by his hips. “T’Challa, p-please let me come.”

“I know, my love,” T’Challa responded, gently kneading the globes of N'Jadaka’s ass. He gently maneuvered the other man until he was laying once again on his back. “I want to see your face when you come for me.”

N'Jadaka was sprawled out underneath T’Challa, tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, cock leaking all over his twitching stomach. T’Challa settled between N'Jadaka’s parted legs, resisting the urge to lick them. “You've kept your promise.”

N'Jadaka could barely lift his head to nod, hummed his agreement, body tensing in anticipation of T’Challa’s next move. N'Jadaka choked on a sob once T’Challa finally got his hand around the base of his cock, hips jutting up. T’Challa lazily pumped up, pressing down hard at the slit. 

“Oh fuck,” N'Jadaka groaned, eyes squeezed tightly shut, his face a mask of agony. 

‘Beautiful,’ T’Challa thought as he continued to pump his come splattered hand, milking N'Jadaka’s cock through his release. A lone tear escaped the corner of N'Jadaka’s eye and slowly began to streak down his face. T’Challa leaned forward and licked, humming at the salty taste of it.

“You did so well,” He says soothingly, watching as N'Jadaka struggled to catch his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am only slightly embarrassed to have written this


End file.
